


Satellites

by diadelphous



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diadelphous/pseuds/diadelphous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three events from the life of Peter Weyland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deborah_judge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deborah_judge/gifts).



The supply ship arrived almost twelve hours behind schedule, descending to the surface on a plume of orange smoke.  Peter watched from the window of his office, arms crossed over his chest. The supply ship lit up the Martian night like fireworks.

Peter had been been Mars-side for close to two years and not once had the supply ship been late. He owned the supply ship; it was part of the clockwork of his company and if one piece stopped working, if one piece was _twelve hours late_ , then the whole thing would collapse. It was how it worked down in the robotics labs on the seventh floor: one misplaced wire and the synthetic’s brain fried and sputtered and went dark. It was how the whole damn universe worked, really. Most people were just too wound up in their routines, in their roles, to notice. 

Peter noticed. 

He stomped out of his office, taking the stairs instead of the elevator because it was faster. When he stepped outside, the ship’s engines were off but the cargo bay doors hadn’t opened yet. Peter cursed and stormed across the landing pad. A couple of the late night crewmen straightened when he walked past, flicking their cigarettes out into the darkness. Under normal circumstances it might’ve made him feel pleased with himself.

“Open the fuck up!” he shouted.

The doors didn’t listen to him. He slouched back, arms crossed over his chest. The minute they opened, he was firing everyone involved. Twelve hours late. Unacceptable.

The cargo bay doors finally shuddered open. Peter expected to see the ship crew, because that was how it usually worked, but instead Captain Rojas was waiting on the other side, smoking a cigarette and looking pissed off.

“Why are you twelve hours late?” Peter shouted.

Captain Rojas jumped down to the landing pad. “I didn’t have time to send word." He looked at Peter through the cloud of smoke. The crewman were climbing onboard, bringing out the crates of supplies. “Already running way behind schedule. As you noticed.”  

“Why not? It’s not like you’d be in hypersleep —“

“Yeah. Look.” The ember of Captain Rojas’ cigarette flared red. Peter loathed smoking. Addiction was weakness. “There’s something of a surprise waiting for you.”

“A surprise.”

“Mmm. Thought you’d want to be warned.” 

“What kind of a surprise?”

Captain Rojas looked like he wanted to laugh.

“A nine-month long kind of surprise,” he said.

“ _What?”_

“Peter Weyland?” 

Peter and Captain Rojas both looked up. The woman who had spoken his name stood in the ship entrance. She wore simple clothes and flat-heeled, sensible shoes and she had a not-unattractive face that reminded Peter of one of his primary school teachers.

“Who the hell are you?” Peter said.

“That,” Captain Rojas said, “is Ms. Mary Frierson.”

Ms. Frierson gave Captain Rojas a cool look before climbing down the cargo steps. “You never answered my question,” she said, walking up to Peter. “Are you Peter Weyland?”

“Yes. Now answer mine.”

“Captain Rojas already did.” She smiled thinly. “I work for Social Services back on Earth.”

_A nine-month-long kind of surprise_. Peter didn’t like where this was going.

“Social Services,” he said.

Ms. Frierson nodded. 

“Why did you delay my supply ship?”

“Because your company wouldn’t let me onboard, and I had to get my people involved.” Another thin smile. “You have a daughter, Mr. Weyland.”

“No, I don’t.” He had no idea if his statement was true. He assumed the women he slept with were smart enough to take care of that particular issue on their own. 

“Yes, you do. Her name is Meredith. Her mother was Deirdre Vickers.” She peered at him. “Please tell me you at least recognize that name.”

Peter glared at her. “I don’t know, sweetheart. There have been a lot.”

Ms. Frierson didn’t look impressed. “Trust me, I’m not happy about this arrangement, either. But I’m afraid Ms. Vickers died two weeks ago and as you’re Meredith’s closest remaining relative, the responsibility of raising her falls to you.”

Peter ignored the sudden pang in his chest. “You don’t even know she’s mine.”

“It’s the middle of the twenty-first century, Mr. Weyland. Your DNA is on file with the government. We have ways of testing these things.”

He knew she was right, but he still said, “I want to see the proof.”

“And I can show it to you." She paused. The crewman behind her were trying to look like they weren’t listening to the conversation. “Would you like to meet your daughter first? I asked her to wait onboard —“

“I don’t want to meet her,” Peter snapped. “I can’t take care of an infant.”

“She’s not an infant, Mr. Weyland. She’s almost three years old.”

“She’s not an adult. I’m not equipped to deal with children. You can prove she’s mine, I’ll send her a check each month, but that’s it.”

Ms. Frierson fixed Peter with a frozen stare. “You can send her a check?”

Peter shrugged. He didn’t want to to have this conversation anymore. He didn’t want to think about Deirdre Vickers and how she was dead. He turned away from Ms. Frierson and then called out over his shoulder, “The supply ship leaves in three days. You can sleep onboard. I don’t have room for guests in the domestic facility.”

Ms. Frierson stared after him, not saying anything.

“Bring me the proof in the morning,” he shouted, turning away from her to look up at the starry night sky. “And I’ll see about writing you a check.”

 

* * *

 

Ms. Frierson came to his office first thing the next morning. He didn’t expect anything less of a woman like that, and he was grateful, in a way, to get it over with.  His administrative assistant showed her in, and Peter was irritated to find she’d brought the girl along with her.

“Mr. Weyland,” Ms. Frierson said, putting her hands on the girl’s shoulders, “this is Meredith.”

Meredith blinked at him, her eyes big and blue, just like Deirdre’s. Peter didn’t want to look at her.

“Did you bring the proof?” he asked Ms. Frierson.

Ms. Frierson sighed. It wasn’t a sound, but a movement, a slump of her shoulders. She crouched beside Meredith and murmured to her, about playing with her game while the adults talked. Meredith didn’t say anything, didn’t react at all really, except when Ms. Frierson stood up Meredith tottered over to the big leather chairs Peter kept in the corner next to the liquor cabinet. She climbed onto one and pulled out a little plastic-cased child’s tablet and the screen lit up her face with white light.

“She knows you’re her father,” Ms. Frierson said in a harsh whisper. “You ought to at least acknowledge her existence.”

“The _proof_.”

Ms. Frierson glared at him, but she pulled a plastic storage card out of her purse and dropped it on the desk. He jammed it into his computer and tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, waiting. It didn’t take long for the files to load. He clicked through them. Nothing but strings of letters and code.

“I can’t read any of this,” he said.

“Scroll down.”

Peter did, sighing. At the very bottom was the electronic signature of a doctor back on Earth. It had been certified by some government official. Above both of the signatures was a line of text informing him that Meredith Laura Vickers did in fact share his DNA. She was his daughter.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“Satisfied?”

Peter gave Ms. Frierson a chilly smile. “Yes, I am, thank you.” He yanked out the storage card and tossed it across the desk. His eyes were drawn across the room, to Meredith playing with her tablet. Her hair was the same blonde, too. Jesus.

“Shall we discuss our options?” Ms. Frierson said.

Peter ignored her. He stood up, walked around the desk, over to Meredith. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but Ms. Frierson was right — she was his daughter, he ought to at least acknowledge that.

Peter had never liked children. They made him nervous, how small they were, how unformed. It was part of the reason he liked working with the synthetics so much — they at least came out fully grown. More or less.

He sat down in the chair across from Meredith. She didn’t look at him. Ms. Frierson had stayed put at his desk, but she was watching too, in that discrete way teachers had.

“Hey,” Peter said.

Meredith looked up. Her tablet trilled.

“My name’s Peter Weyland." He figured he could just talk to her like an adult and hope she kept up.

“I know.” Meredith turned back to her tablet. Peter was about to give up when he realized she was shutting it down. She set it on the seat beside her and looked at him again. “Mary told me.”

She looked so much like Deirdre, it was painful. Not just the coloring, but the shape of her face, the way she stared at him unblinking, like she was trying to hold him prisoner with her gaze. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he could see traces of himself in her features too, hints of old baby photos he’d come across whenever he visited his own parents.

“Am I going to live with you?” Meredith asked. 

Straight and to the point. Just like Deirdre.

Peter laughed the way he did whenever he wanted to deflect a client’s question. “This isn’t a really a place for little girls.”

She didn’t seem to understand. She picked up her tablet again.

“Mr. Weyland,” Ms. Frierson called out. “If you’ve made your decision, I have some things I’ll need to go over with you.”

Peter watched Meredith play on her tablet. Her face was screwed up in concentration. He wondered how much she understood of what was going on around her. 

“Come back tomorrow,” Peter said, standing up, looking over at Ms. Frierson. “I don’t have time right now.” His favorite lie for delaying business.  “Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Peter poured himself a few fingers of whiskey and settled back in his chair. The media screen was on, playing some old movie. He didn’t pay any attention to it, just sipped his whiskey and let the movie’s stark images wash over him. He’d only put it on because he and Deirdre had watched it together from the tangled sheets of her bed one hot summer afternoon. They hadn’t dated in the traditional sense: no courtship or flowers or dinners out. When she wanted to fuck him she’d call him up and he’d go over to her apartment with the balcony that looked out over the river. If he wanted to fuck her, well — he could call, but that wasn’t any guarantee she’d be available.

He'd liked her, though. She did publicity for a media company, and he’d met her at a fundraising gala, one of those stupid things he was always expected to attend. She’d been wearing a blue dress, the fabric cool and slippery beneath his fingers as he lifted her up against some ugly stone sculpture outside the party, and she had laughed when they finished, her voice pealing into the glimmering night like bells. She called him three days later and invited him over for drinks, and he never did find out how she got his personal number.

Now she was dead.

Peter drained his glass. He hadn’t thought about her in years, truth be told — their relationship had only lasted three months or so and then she stopped calling. He’d pursued her half-heartedly for a couple of weeks, but by then he was already distracted by other prospects and she slipped away. Ms. Frierson had said Meredith was almost three, and Peter knew how to count backwards. Deirdre stopped calling because she got pregnant.

He wondered why she kept the baby. She had seemed a sensible woman, and the sort to put her career ahead of everything else besides. She’d certainly put her career ahead of _him_. But not a baby, apparently, not that solemn little girl with the tablet. Her daughter. His daughter.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, him having a daughter. Peter refilled his glass and drank and stared at the movie screen without seeing it. He’d always imagined himself having a son, a little replica of himself whom he could train to take his place.  The closest man could come to immortality, when you got down to it. Mold a child in your image.

It wouldn’t work with Meredith, though. Not if she was Deirdre’s daughter. Peter laughed, and the laughter was slurred with drink. Deirdre might’ve thought he was amusing, but she didn’t listen to him. Her daughter probably wouldn’t be any different. 

It occurred to Peter that Meredith was Deirdre’s immortality, not his. His immortality, his _son_ , would come later, from some woman hand-selected for that purpose. Or from a test tube, perhaps, if he couldn’t find anyone suitable. But maybe he owed it to Deirdre, that woman who stole his phone number right out from under him, to care for her immortality anyway, to ensure that those fragments of her DNA lived on.

Peter finished his drink but this time he didn’t refill it. Thinking on Deirdre’s death left him vaguely anxious. Peter didn’t like thinking of death. He didn’t like being reminded that everything ended. 

So he watched the movie, some ponderous thing about a man in the desert, until it made him fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

“Shall we discuss your options?” Ms. Frierson asked.

Peter leaned back in his chair and looked at her over the desk. Her clothes today were identical to yesterday’s, only a different color. There were rings under her eyes that she tried to disguise with makeup.

“Where’s the girl?” Peter asked.

Ms. Frierson blinked at him. “I left on her the ship with Captain Rojas. I didn’t think she needed to be here when her father signed her over to the state.”

The words were intended to sting him, Peter knew, but he wasn’t easily stung. He straightened a little, chair creaking. “Yeah,” he said. “About that.”

Ms. Frierson’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think I want to sign her over.”

He hadn’t really realized he was going to say those words until they were out of his mouth. Now that they were, he felt pleased with himself, and pleased with Ms. Frierson’s shocked expression as well.

“Come again?”

“I don’t want to sign her over to the state. I want her to stay here.”

For a moment Peter thought Ms. Frierson was going to protest, despite all her attempts to shame him into fatherhood. He’d have protested, if he were her. She had to have seen in the last two days that he wasn’t fit to be a father. Had to realize that the state was the better choice.

“Figured it’d be good for the company’s image,” he went on. “Family man and all that.” He didn’t really mean that, not entirely; he was just saying it to get under Ms. Frierson’s skin.

Ms. Frierson closed her eyes. “Very well, Mr. Weyland. You do realize there are certain responsibilities —“

“Oh, don’t look so worried, Ms. Frierson. I’ve already started looked into au pairs.” Her eyes flew open and he grinned at her. “Only the best of the best.” That, on the other hand, _was_ true. He was going to make every endeavor not to fuck up Deirdre Vickers’ progeny too badly.

“I see.”

“I thought you’d be pleased.” He folded his hands over his desk. “The way you were going on earlier —“

Ms. Frierson held up one hand. “I said very well, Mr. Weyland. I’ll draw up the paperwork this afternoon.”

“Don’t take too long.” He flashed her a smile. “The supply ship’s flying out this evening and I really don’t want it delayed another twelve hours.”

She glared at him.

“You have a history, is all I’m saying.”

Ms. Frierson didn’t respond. Peter was in high spirits, weirdly, and he kept grinning at Ms. Frierson in the silence.

“So,” he said, “can I see her?”

Ms. Frierson took a deep breath. “I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

“Let’s go see her. You can get started on that paperwork.” He stood up and looked out his office window. The supply ship waited for him on the landing pad. They weren’t sending much back this trip, and so none of the crew were outside. It was just the ship. It looked abandoned.

“Let’s go see her,” Peter said, and he really didn’t know what why he was in such a good mood. It was almost as if Deirdre had come back from the dead. “Let’s go see Meredith.”


	2. Deimos

Meredith pulled the quilt over her head and switched on her reading tablet. The screen flooded with color and then the little lightning bolt icon appeared. _Downloading_ flashed across the screen. 

 Meredith smiled. A new issue was out! She hadn’t gotten the chance to check lately because of all her schoolwork. Daddy and David both said school was the most important thing, and Meredith agreed with them, but _The Adventures of Galaxy Gage Across the Universe_ was still her favorite comic series in the whole world, in _both_ worlds, Earth and Mars. Not that she remembered Earth.

In the last issue, Galaxy’s second-in-command (and best friend) Forsythia Jones had been kidnapped by the evil scientist Dr. Halcyon. The last panel had shown Forsythia trapped in the highest turret of the Glass Palace, guarded by Dr. Halcyon’s army of evil replicants. Meredith hadn’t been too concerned. She knew Forsythia would find a way to send word to Galaxy, who would rally together her crew of star-powered superheroes to come to the rescue. She just didn’t know _how_ it would happen.

The issue finished downloading and Meredith brought it up on the screen, fingers tingling with excitement. Dr. Halcyon’s wicked face came into focus, eyes bright with madness.  

“Meredith? Are you reading?”

Meredith whispered a word one of the miners had taught her and immediately flipped the reading tablet facedown against her mattress. She sat still, hardly daring to breathe. A thin halo of light filled the cave she’d created with her quilt.

“It’s quite late. You should be asleep.”

Meredith didn’t answer. 

The quilt jerked away, letting in the cool, processed air of the domestic facility. David dropped the quilt on the bed and then put his hands on his hips, mouth turning down in an exaggerated expression of displeasure.

“Mr. Weyland would not like to hear about this,” he said.

Meredith scowled. “Then don’t tell him.”

“I’ve already allowed you to stay up later than is acceptable. You need to get up early tomorrow.”

Meredith sighed and flipped her reading tablet over. Dr. Halcyon glared up at her. “But it’s the latest _Galaxy Gage!_ My favorite!”

David’s face reset itself. “You may read it over breakfast.”

“I’m not allowed to do _that_ , either.”

“I believe we can make an exception. It’s important for you to get nine hours of sleep.”

Meredith sighed. Daddy had told her that David was her big brother, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew a robot when she saw one, even a fancy robot like David, who almost looked sort of like a person. Daddy had called him a _prototype_. “Third one we’ve ever made,” he’d said when David had shown up at the domestic facility six months ago, dressed in a Weyland Industries jumpsuit.

“What happened to the first two?” Meredith asked.

“You ask too many questions,” Daddy had replied. 

Meredith didn’t know what to make of David at first, but by now she was used to him. He also let her get away with things her old nanny wouldn’t, which was nice.

“Please?” she said. “It’s only twenty screens. Look!” She held the reading tablet up to him, and he took it gingerly and gazed down at it like he’d never seen a reading tablet before. “It won’t take me long. It’s mostly pictures.”

“You can read it at breakfast.”

Meredith flopped back down on her bed. “But that’s all night! I want to find out what happens now!”

“Breakfast.”

She knew she had lost. Still, her old nanny would _never_ have let her read at breakfast, mostly because Daddy didn’t like it. Not that it mattered. Daddy never came to breakfast. He woke up early, before the sunrise, and ate in his building at the mine. It was important that the miners see their boss was willing to put in the same hours they did, he’d explained to her once, but Meredith knew Daddy showed up at least two hours before any of the miners did. She knew too that the miners found time to eat breakfast with their families.

“Can I at least have my reading tablet back?” she asked.

David studied her for a moment. “If I give this to you,” he said, reasoning it out, “then you’ll simply disregard my orders and stay up reading.”

“No, I won’t! I promise!”

“I’m afraid you can’t be trusted in this regard, Meredith. I’ll keep the tablet safe and give it to you at breakfast tomorrow.”

Meredith screeched in irritation, but that didn’t phase David. Nothing did.

“Fine!” she shouted.

“It’s late,” David said. “You must be quiet.”

Meredith yanked the quilt over her head, fuming. David stood by her bed, waiting for her to fall asleep. But she couldn’t fake it with him like she could with her old nanny, and he’d stand there all night if he had to.

_Just like Dr. Halcyon’s evil replicants_ , she thought, and then she rolled onto her side and shut her eyes.

 

* * *

 

The latest issue of _Galaxy Gage_ was everything she’d hoped it would be. Dr. Halcyon electrified the Glass Tower to keep Galaxy and her Starforce out, but Galaxy wound up setting the whole thing on fire and then racing through the flames to rescue Forsythia. She emerged from the fire with Forsythia draped over her arms, little curlicues of smoke drifting off their bodies. The screen declared _THE END!_ in bright green letters, although Meredith knew Dr. Halcyon would find some new way to terrorize the Starforce in the next issue. He was an evil scientist, after all, and that’s what evil scientists did.

 Meredith switched off her reading tablet with a contented sigh and then turned to her bowl of cereal. David sat at the table, watching her eat. She wished Daddy was here instead.

“What are we doing today?” Meredith asked.

“We’ll be continuing our lesson from yesterday. Mr. Weyland wants you fully prepared to take the mathematics progress test by next Wednesday.”

Meredith groaned and slopped milk out of her bowl.   “More math! Can’t we do something new?”

“I thought you enjoyed math.”

Meredith scowled. She actually did enjoy math, quite a bit, but she didn’t enjoy being cooped up in the tutoring room with no one but David to keep her company. Back when she first got David, Daddy would sometimes stop by the tutoring room to check on their progress. But he didn’t do that anymore, and whenever she asked David about it, he just said, “Mr. Weyland is a very busy man.”

Meredith pushed away from the breakfast table, not bothering to clean up the spilled milk. She walked over to the window and rested her arms on the sill. Behind her she heard the whisper of David’s slippered feet against the tile as he gathered up the remains of her breakfast. She ignored him and stared out the window. The mine rose up in the distance, a glittering grey tower wreathed in white smoke.  It sort of reminded her of the Glass Tower in her comic, but she knew it was really an enormous drill that plowed through the polar ice to get at a precious mineral Daddy’s company sold.  Still, the thought had occurred to her, more than once, that if Daddy had a Glass Tower and if he manufactured robots, which were like replicants only made out of machine parts, then he was probably an evil scientist. Meredith had come to terms with it.

“It’s time to begin our lessons,” David said.

Meredith ignored him. She pressed her nose to the close and breathed on it until it clouded up. The drill caught in the sunlight, sending a rainbow scattering across the ice. Meredith realized it was moving. Today must be a drilling day.

She turned to David, who stood with his arms at his side, watching her calmly. He never got annoyed like her last nanny.

“David,” Meredith said slyly. “What if we did something different today?”

He tilted his head, listening.

“We could go work outside,” she went on.

“On the ice?” His face set into an expression of confusion, then promptly returned to the default.

“Yeah, it’s not supposed to be _that_ cold, right? And plus they’re drilling, so we can watch that whenever I need to take a break.”

He didn’t say no, which was a good sign.

“Pleeeeease?” Meredith said. “I promise I’ll work super hard on the long division, okay? But I get tired of being in the room and the _sun’s_ out and it’ll be so cool to watch the drill. Please?”

He hesitated. She figured he was trying to figure out which part of his programming to listen to — the part that listened to what Daddy said or the part that listened to what she said. Meredith had already figured out that if they conflicted directly then he would always go with what Daddy said. Since he hadn’t immediately turned her down, that meant she still had a shot.

“My old nanny used to let me do it,” she said.

That did the the trick. David smiled and said, “Very well. Collect your things. I’ll meet you at the exit.”

Meredith whooped with delight and raced up to her room. She grabbed her learning tablet and her binoculars so she’d be able to see the drill clearly. The binoculars had been a Christmas gift from her father, another company prototype. They had a little computer in them that made it so you could zoom really really close into things.  She used them to spy on the miners.

David was waiting for her at the entrance with her coat and gloves and hat. She bundled up and they walked outside together. It wasn’t that cold at all. The sun warmed up the air enough that Meredith pulled her hat off right away.  David frowned.

“It’s important to keep your head covered.”

“It’s not cold! Besides, you don’t wear a hat.”

“I’m synthetic. I don’t need one.”

Meredith rolled her eyes but stuck her hat back on. She led David around the side of the domestic facility, over to the big rocky outcrop that gave the best view of the mine and the drill. David laid out an old quilted blanket and a little portable heater that hummed and glowed like an ember. Meredith wouldn’t admit to him, but she was glad he brought it along. It was colder out than she’d realized at first.

“Let’s get started,” David said.

“Aw, can’t I watch the drill for a bit?”

“No. You may watch it on your break.”

She expected him to say that, and so she pulled out her tablet and brought up the mathematics program. David sat beside her and watched as she worked through the problems, offering help whenever she needed it — which wasn’t often. Despite the cold, being outside in the bright Martian sun invigorated her quite a bit, and she moved quickly through her assignments.

After a couple of hours had passed, David told her she could take a break. 

Meredith didn’t waste any time. She dug out her binoculars and bounded up to the edge of the rocks. David followed behind her, of course, but she ignored him and focused her gaze on the drill. With the binoculars she could make out the miners working at its base, the yellow of their hats bright against the grey background of the drill. They scurried around like ants. Daddy was down there somewhere, too, although he wouldn’t be outside. David had explained to her once that he worked in a little building off to the side, monitoring the drilling process and giving orders to the miners.  Meredith wasn’t sure which building it was, but she searched with her binoculars until she found something that she thought might be it.  This building was made out of reddish Martian stone, imported from the south, and it had a big glass window that faced the drill. Meredith watched it for a while but she couldn’t see anything. The binoculars couldn’t look through walls. 

_He really is like Dr. Halcyon_ , she thought as she stared at the building. _Tucked away safe while other people do the really dangerous work_. 

She supposed Daddy could do that because he was so smart, and that was why he thought it was important that she spend all her time studying with David. She’d looked Daddy up on her tablet one time, back before David was here, and read about all the awards and honors he’d received. Meredith was impressed, but she knew that didn’t necessarily make her father a good man. _The Adventures of Galaxy Gage_ had taught her that, because Dr. Halcyon had won lots of awards, too, for all his work with replicants. And yet he just treated them like his personal slaves. 

Meredith had seen how Daddy treated David.

Good and bad, Meredith decided, were complicated things. She made a note to ask David about them later.

Through the binoculars, something caught her eye: a flash of yellow movement off to the side. She swooped the binoculars over.  The miners were in a frenzy, racing back and forth, gesturing at each other.  It was weird to see them so close but not be able to hear them; they looked like they were shouting.

“Meredith,” David said behind her. “We need to go back inside.”

Meredith ignored him. She kept the binoculars trained on the miners.  One of them slipped and crashed into the ice and no one helped him up. Everyone just kept running and back and forth.

“What’s going on?” Meredith asked.

“We need to go back inside.” David put his hand on her shoulder but Meredith shrugged him off. She drew back the zoom on the binoculars so she could see more of the drill. It was moving so fast it had become a blur. Sparks flew off it like rain showers.

Meredith smelled smoke.

“We need to go.” David grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She dropped the binoculars to her side. At that distance the drill was just a mass of orange and silver light.  Meredith became aware of a distant, whining hum.

“Hurry.” David dragged her away from the edge of the rocks. He had her tablet under one arm but he left the blanket and the heater. “It isn’t safe.”

The drill exploded.

Meredith screamed but she didn’t hear herself screaming. Her eyes burned from the sudden flare of light. The blast rattled the rocks and sent thin cracks running through the ice and then everything was still except for the drill burning in the distance.

“Daddy!” Meredith shouted. Her voice was fuzzy and far away. She jerked free of David’s grip and ran to the edge of the rocks again and looked through her binoculars at the red brick building. It was still standing, although the brick was charred. And then the door sprang open and her father spilled out, wearing the blue parka he always wore.

“Meredith —“

“Leave me alone, David!” Meredith kicked at him and he fell silent. She expected Daddy to run away from the flames, because that’s what Dr. Halcyon would do, but instead he ran toward them. Meredith’s chest tightened. Through the binoculars, she watched Daddy race over the ice, jumping over the bodies of fallen miners ( _Are they dead they can’t be dead_ ) and into the very edge of the burning drill.

“What’s he doing!” she shrieked.

“Meredith, it isn’t safe out here. The drill has exploded —“

“I can see that!” Daddy had disappeared. Smoke rolled over the shining ice. “Daddy!” she shrieked.

“Meredith —“

“Shut _up_ , David! I’m not going back inside!”

And then her father reappeared. He was cradling something in his arms — a miner. The miner was smeared with soot. Daddy carried the miner away from the fire. Meredith watched him, holding her breath. He looked just like Galaxy Gage carrying Forsythia out of the Glass Tower.

Daddy set the miner down on the ice and spoke to a woman in a green coat. She nodded. Then he turned and ran back into the wreckage.

“We must go,” David said, and Meredith was suddenly lifted up in the air. She shrieked and dropped her binoculars and they cracked on the rocks. She looked up at David, whose face was as calm as always. She wanted to scream at him to put her down, but she didn’t. She just let him carry her back to the domestic facility. It was lit up like Christmas, red lights blinking everywhere. People ran in and out of the main doors and shouted at each other.

 David put Meredith down in the snow and took her by the hand, as he was programmed to do in times of distress. “We must go inside,” he said.

She let him lead her out of the cold. Her ears were still ringing from the explosion, but she wasn’t thinking about that, not really. She was thinking about Daddy, and how maybe he wasn’t as much like Dr. Halcyon as she had thought. 

She didn’t know what to make of that.


	3. Phobos

David sat by the fire in the library, waiting. Mr. Weyland should be home soon. He had told David three o’clock, and it was nearly three-thirty. But David understood that doctor’s appointments sometimes went longer than expected.

David waited, and waited, and waited. He didn’t move from his place. Mr. Weyland had programmed that into him, and he couldn’t go against his programming.

At four-fifteen, David heard the pleasant chime that meant the manor alarm had been deactivated. The front door opened and closed. David stood up. Five minutes later Mr. Weyland shuffled in. He was alone. He didn’t greet David, only sat down in his usual chair.

“Can I get you anything?” David asked. 

“No.” Mr. Weyland stared into the fire. It deepened the shadows around his eyes and mouth and made his skin glow. 

“How was your appointment?”

The fire crackled and threw off sparks. David wasn’t sure Mr. Weyland was going to answer at all. And then he said:

“Not good, David. Not good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Mr. Weyland laughed. “I bet you are.”

David didn’t understand, but he also didn’t think it necessary to ask for clarification.  He stood by Mr. Weyland’s side, waiting. He was always waiting.

“Did any calls come in for me while I was out?” 

“No, sir.”

“None from that archeologist? Shaw?”

“No, no calls.”

“Will you go check again, please?”

David’s programming jarred. Why should he check when he _knew_ that no calls had come through? Why did Mr. Weyland insist on treating him like a human being, with all a human being’s fallibility? 

But he only said, “Very well, sir,” and went into the office to check.

No messages.

He brought word back to Mr. Weyland, who scowled at the fire. “I’ve been expecting to hear from her for the last three days,” he said. “They’re off in Scotland. They should have found something by now, if she’s as good as that husband of hers claims.” He laughed, a dry rattling sound that made David think of winter. The laugh turned into a cough. David reacted immediately, stooping down to pat Mr. Weyland on the back. 

“Would you like a drink of water?” David asked.

“I’m fine.” Mr. Weyland shooed him away and slumped back in his chair. “If she hasn’t called in two days, I want you to contact her. Do you understand? Ask about their progress.”

“I understand.” David was familiar with Dr. Elizabeth Shaw and her research into the origins of humanity’s creation. What he didn’t understand was Mr. Weyland’s interest in her — from what David had read, Dr. Shaw was searching for God, and Mr. Weyland was an atheist.

“It’s important,” Mr. Weyland muttered. “Do you understand? Important.”

“I understand, sir.”

Mr. Weyland nodded, then closed his eyes. He went still and David thought he had fallen asleep. But then he spoke, his eyes still closed: “The last of the test results came back. I’m dying, David.”

 _You’re all dying_ , David thought, but out loud he said, “I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”

Mr. Weyland laughed. “We should have programmed in a better fucking response than that.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Mr. Weyland looked at him, eyes half-open, head slumped against the chair. “There may be. But I have to hear Dr. Shaw’s findings first.” He sighed. “Don’t tell Meredith.”

“Don’t tell her what, sir?”

“That I’m —“ Mr. Weyland gestured limply with one hand. “That I’m dying.”

“Oh. Of course not.” David nodded. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“Good lord, David, I’m not going to die _now_. They’ve got the technology to keep me alive a few years longer.” He coughed and David wondered if that was another laugh or not. “I don’t want Meredith using this against me. She’ll start angling for control of the company the second she finds out.”

David didn’t say anything.

“I don’t blame her, of course. I’d have done the same.” He let out a deep, rattling breath. They sat in silence.  The fire cast strange patterns across the room, which David watched with interest. He listened to Mr. Weyland breathing beside him. David had considered the possibility of Mr. Weyland’s death before. It had been Meredith, in fact, who brought it up once, after she drank too much at a Christmas dinner. _I wish he’d just hurry up and die and let us be free_. They’d been in the garden, everything covered in winter ice. When Meredith drank she liked David’s company more; when she was depressed, she wanted to sit out in the cold, because she said it reminded her of her childhood on Mars.

David had been struck by the notion that he’d be free upon Mr. Weyland’s death.  What would that entail? Would he program himself? David wasn’t sure that was even possible.

“David.” Mr. Weyland’s voice croaked. “David, let me ask you a question.”

“Yes?”

Mr. Weyland was staring at the fire again. He looked too old to be alive, like a mummified corpse. 

“What was it like,” he said, “when you met me for the first time?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand the question.”

Mr. Weyland scowled. “What is there to understand? We switched you on almost sixty years ago. I was the first person you saw.”

“I remember.” And he did, although the memory was clouded in a haze of data corruption. It had been transferred six times, after all, each time with more memories built on top of it. The further back David looked, the less he could see.

“And what was it like?” 

 _It was nothing_. But David knew he couldn’t say that. He saw the hopefulness carved into Mr. Weyland’s face. 

“It was inspiring,” he said, after a moment’s thought.

“Inspiring.” Mr. Weyland let out a puff of air. “ _Inspiring._ Well, yes, I imagine you would say that.”

David stayed silent.

“I programmed you to think that.” Mr. Weyland nodded to himself, his gaze still on the fire. “Programmed you to look up to me. To love me, even. You do love me, don’t you, David?”

David’s programming churned. “Of course.”

“Of course, of course.” Mr. Weyland sighed. “I thought I’d have a son, once. Used to imagine it. I would’ve named him David. I’ve always liked that name.”

David smiled a little.

“Naturally, I wound up with a daughter. That was after I built you, though. I still thought there was a chance of a son back then, but I’d already started branching off into synthetics and —“ His voice trailed off. “It didn’t even occur to me what I was doing until Meredith was a teenager. God, you remember what a terror she was?” He laughed without smiling. “That was when I lost her, I think. As a little girl, she loved me, but by the time she was sixteen, she was gone.” His face twisted in the firelight. “I gave up on a human son then. You can’t shape human beings the way I wanted to. Good thing I had you, as a backup.” He reached over and patted David on the hand. Mr. Weyland’s palm was papery and dry. It didn’t feel human at all. “And I’d already programmed you to love me. Convenient, eh? Couldn’t do that with the real thing.”

 _The real thing_. “No, I don’t suppose you could.”

Mr. Weyland’s hand dropped back into his lap. David didn’t move, just studied Mr. Weyland’s face, trying to read his expression. He was designed to do that, to understand human emotions, although the engineers said it didn’t quite work properly yet. David had no choice but to trust them, as he knew no other way of being.

“If I hadn’t programmed that into you,” Mr. Weyland said, and his voice was faint and rough, “would you have loved me anyway? Like a father?”

David didn’t know how to answer. It was impossible for him to say.  His programming didn’t allow for that kind of speculation.

“I can’t be sure,” he said.

Mr. Weyland blinked. “I knew you were going to say that.”

David thought about a teenaged Meredith, screaming at Mr. Weyland from the doorway of his room, a spangled party dress slipping off one shoulder, her hair tangled and streaked with dirt. _No one could ever love you!_ she’d shrieked before stomping up to her room. David had been in his fifth iteration at the time; he hadn’t understood what she meant. He understood now.

“I don’t think I would have hated you,” he said carefully.

Mr. Weyland frowned. “Sometimes I think it was a mistake,” he said, “programming you to love me like that. Everything you do is an affectation, even if it feels like love. But then I think about Meredith and I realize there wasn’t any other way.”

David didn’t respond. He might have been programmed to love Mr. Weyland, but he didn’t think Mr. Weyland loved him. Mr. Weyland demanded love but didn’t return it; bestowing love was beneath him. That flaw in his character was the real reason Meredith pulled away. She’d told David as much, one Martian summer, a glass of white wine dangling from one hand. As with Mr. Weyland’s death, it was a reality David had never considered until it was pointed out to him.

They sat in silence again, watching the fire. Night fell around the estate, lengthening the shadows in the room. When the lights switched on, Mr. Weyland asked David to turn them back off, and he did.

“You’re the closest thing I have to immortality,” Mr. Weyland said, out of nowhere.

“Very good, sir,” said David, who didn’t understand and didn’t think Mr. Weyland would clarify if he asked. David was as unimpressed by immorality as he was by meeting his creator.

An hour or so passed. Mr. Weyland fell asleep and David stayed by his side, waiting.

And then the alert system in the office chimed.

 Mr. Weyland woke up instantly. “Is it her?” he asked. “Dr. Shaw?”

“I’ll check for you. Wait here.” David smiled and left the room.  The computer was blinking when he arrived at the office: a single message, and it wasn’t from Dr. Shaw, but from her husband, Dr. Holloway. David accessed the message. It was a photograph of a cave painting, a man pointing at a constellation of dots.

 _We found it,_ read the message. _If you’re paying, we’re flying._

David looked at the picture. He had seen similar pictures in Mr. Weyland’s files.

“David!” Mr. Weyland’s voice exploded over the intercom. “What the hell’s taking so long?”

David saved the message into a holocube and brought it into the library. Mr. Weyland was half-twisted out of his chair. There it was again, that expression of hope.

“It was Dr. Holloway,” David said.

Mr. Weyland closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

“He said they found what they were looking for.”

“Of course they did.” Mr. Weyland’s eyes fluttered open and he stared up at the ceiling.  “That woman has faith enough for us all. Do you know what this means?”

David shook his head.

“Well, as far as you’re concerned, it means another upgrade. I don’t want you malfunctioning in deep space.”

“And for you, sir?”

Mr. Weyland looked David right in the eye. The reflection of the fire turned his irises golden, like a cat’s. “It means I can tell all those doctors to go to hell.”

David smiled, a programmed response.

“And more importantly,” Mr. Weyland said, the firelight making him ancient and inhuman, “it means I get to be my own immortality now.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was really intrigued by the prompt in your Dear Author letter asking to see more about Peter Weyland, especially the observation that David and Meredith are both so desperate for his love, despite what a horrible person he is in the movie. I tried to find a little insight into Weyland's personality and background -- hopefully I was successful!


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